The first light of dawn was streaking the night sky with pink and palest green.
Stefan watched it from the window of his room in the boarding house. He had
rented this room specifically because of the trapdoor in the ceiling, a trapdoor
that opened onto the widow's walk on the roof above. Just now that door was
open, and a cool damp wind blew down the ladder below it. Stefan was fully
dressed, but not because he was up early. He had never been to sleep.
He'd just returned from the woods, and a few scraps of wet leaf clung to the side
of his boot. He brushed them off fastidiously. The comments of the students
yesterday had not escaped him, and he knew they had been staring at his clothes.
He had always dressed in the best, not merely out of vanity, but because it was
the right thing to do. His tutor had often said it: An aristocrat should dress as
befits his position. If he does not, he is showing contempt for others . Everyone
had a place in the world, and his place had once been among the nobility. Once.
Why was he dwelling on these things? Of course, he should have realized that
playing the role of a student was likely to bring his own student days back. Now
the memories came thick and fast, as if he were skimming through the pages of a
journal, his eyes catching an entry here and there. One flashed before him
vividly now: his father's face when Damon had announced he was quitting the
University. He would never forget that. He had never seen his father so angry...
"What do you mean, you are not going back?" Giuseppe was usually a fair man,
but he had a temper, and his elder son brought out the violence in him.
Just now that son was dabbing at his lips with a saffron-colored silk
handkerchief. "I would have thought even you could understand such a simple
sentence, father. Shall I repeat it in Latin for you?"
"Damon—" Stefan began tightly, appalled at this disrespect. But his father
interrupted.
"You are telling me that I, Giuseppe, Conte di Salvatore, will have to face my
friends knowing that my son is a scioparto ? A ne'er-do-well? An idler who
makes no useful contribution to Florence?" Servants were edging away as
Giuseppe worked himself into a rage.
Damon did not even blink. "Apparently. If you can call those who fawn on you
in the hopes that you will lend them money your friends."
" Sporco parassito!" cried Giuseppe, rising from his chair. "Is it not bad enough
that when you are at school you waste your time and my money? Oh, yes, I
know all about the gambling, the jousting, the women. And I know that if it were
not for your secretary and your tutors you would be failing every course. But
now you mean to disgrace me utterly. And why? Why?" His large hand whipped
